I can’t help myself. “Eventually?”
She nods. “To Zalman Horowitz. Do you remember him?”
I do, vaguely. I’m pretty sure he was our brother Sholom’s friend—one of the ones always running around shooting fake lasers out of their fingers at each other. Presumably he’s stopped doing that now. “Congratulations.”
Dvora shrugs one shoulder. “I was lucky he would take me, after everything. Our yichus wasn’t worth as much after what happened with you and Chaya.”
I knew that must have been the case, that my expulsion from our community would have left a black mark on my family’s reputation, that even our established, respectable lineage—descended from some of the most revered rabbis and scholars from Lubavitch itself—wouldn’t make up for what I did.
Dvora probably counts herself lucky she ended up married to someone close to our own age, even if he did have laser fingers.
“What about Malka?” I ask. “And our brothers? Did they…?”
“Gedaliah and Sholom Ber have just started shidduchim, so we’ll see. But Malka is married. She didn’t fare quite as well as me. She started the matchmaking process right after you left, so she was still…. It was too soon, I guess. It took her four years to find her bashert. But they’re happy together. She just had another son.”
“Baruch Hashem,” I murmur.Praise G-d.I don’t know what else to say.
I wish I could have danced with Malka at her wedding. With Dvora at hers. I wish I could have seen Dvora’s beautiful face emerge from beneath her veil, beaming with happiness.
Isshe happy? Is her husband a good man? Did she learn to love Zalman and his laser fingers? Does he love her in return?
I can’t ask her any of that. Maybe one day, a dozen years from now, if she ever forgives me. Maybe then.
But I doubt it.
I think about Malka and her last-chance husband, her four years of waiting, alone and wondering more and more if anyone would ever consent to marry her. I wonder if she hates me every day for making that her life or if she just smiles and turns her face toward heaven and recites the same prayers as always, her faith perennially unshaken.
She was always a good girl. So much better than me and Dvora.
“I’m sorry,” I find myself saying again. Apparently the first time wasn’t sufficient. “Seriously. I didn’t think about how this would affect you. I was so selfish, and stupid, and—”
I can’t finish. My voice has gone thick, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of everyone else in this coffee shop. The girl at the table next to us is reading a book with no headphones in. She’s probably listening. Probably thinks I’m such a piece of shit.
“Yeah,” Dvora says. “Yeah, you kind of are.”
Are.Not “were.”
Can’t really blame her for not making the distinction, though.
“Forget shidduchim. Didn’t you ever think about what it would be like for me without you? You’re my sister. You were my best friend, Ely. I was twelve years old the first time I saw you get high.” Now she is the one with tears swelling in her eyes. She looks away, fumbling with something in the baby carriage again.
The urge to reach out and embrace her is unbearable. But that part of our relationship died eight years ago. I can’t resurrect it. Not with wishful thinking and not alone.
Whatever Dvora is doing in that stroller only seems to make things worse. A small wail emits from behind the bassinet’s rounded cover, and Dvora’s mouth twists into an upset moue as she clicks the brake off and rocks the stroller back and forth in short, quick movements.
“I used to idolize you so much,” she says. “I wanted to be just like you. You were always so cool with your art stuff and your secret parties and your friendship with Chaya—”
We both flinch at the same time. The red in Dvora’s face deepens, and she clenches the stroller just a little tighter.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t…”
My heartbeat feels like a stampede of hooves in my chest. “It’s okay. It’s been a long time. I…Don’t apologize. Not for that. Not for anything.”
She nods, a brief, jerky movement that yanks at my heartstrings. A large part of me regrets coming here. It hurts too fucking bad.
But it’s the right thing to do. I owe Dvora this.
And…
